Some Like it Hot
by MaliceArchangela
Summary: *based off the movie by the same name* Ludwig and Arthur were barely making it as it was, performing at speakeasies, but things got worse when they had to go on the run to hide from a Mafia boss. Disguising themselves as girls, they join an all-girl band headed for Florida, but of course it won't be as easy as all that. GerxFem!Ita, no GerUK.
1. Chapter 1

If anyone that's seen this movie can suggest a better name, then please go ahead and tell me.

This will shadow the movie, but I will do my best to keep it as different as possible. Some lines may have been taken directly from the movie, so I shall start this off with saying that I don't own either _Some Like it Hot_ or Hetalia.

Thank Fem!Italy for the idea. Somehow, I see her as a Marilyn Monroe-type character, and so I might also write a Hetalia version of _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_ when this is done.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

"You ready Jones?" Ivan asked. The American suppressed a shudder. Whoever had the bright idea to assign the Russian as his partner on this case needed to have their head examined.

But he just gave a bright grin, "As always Braginski. This speakeasy is going down, now that the Hero is on the case!"

"You have to admit," the Russian said, "It was quite ingenious of them to hide it in a funeral parlor, da?"

Alfred glared at him, "Commie, don't compliment the villains. It's not heroic at all."

Braginski just smiled at him, and Alfred sighed.

"We're in there to close this organization down and bring in Tomato Romano."

"Tomato?"

"Named because he's always eating a tomato. Funnily enough, he doesn't mind the name. He leaves bruised tomatoes behind at his crime scenes as some sort of calling card."

"But if he likes tomatoes so much, then…"

"He doesn't like bruised tomatoes. That's all."

"Ah," the Russian nodded, and handed over the other man's gun, "Good luck, Jones."

The American snorted, "Heroes don't need luck from stinking Commies."

"Then should I ask for you to die?" he smiled at the shorter man, "I would be happy to do so if that will help?"

Jones scoffed at it, "Don't be stupid, Commie."

"Remember, Jones, the password is that you're going to your great-aunt's funeral," the larger man handed over a tie that the American grudgingly accepted, "In order to get a side-table, say…"

"That I'm one of the pall-bearers, yeah, I know," Alfred interrupted, finishing tying his tie that he needed for admission, "I'm ready. Send in the troops after about five minute, alright?"

The Russian nodded, and Jones turned to walk into the parlor.

It was time to take down this illegal establishment.

…

Ludwig breathed heavily on his hands to warm them up before lifting his gleaming trumpet to his lips and playing. Next to him, Arthur grinned as his fingers ran up and down his guitar, playing as though he had been born to it. For all the German knew, the Englishman _had_ been born to it.

"We're getting paid tonight," the smooth-talking Brit hissed at him happily, "And…"

"Not another vord," usually his glare was enough to shut most people up; too bad the Brit wasn't most people, "I am not participating in one of your insane schemes again."

"This time the thing's for sure! The Britannia Angel is sure to win!"

"That's vhat you said about the Prussian Blue," Ludwig rolled his eyes and paused in his conversation to play a bit before continuing the conversation, "And it cost us all of our money right before we lost our jobs."

"This time I'm _sure_! The odds are 10-to-1! We'll be rich!"

"And I reiterate, that's vhat you said last time."

"Hey, if we don't win, we just bide our time until our next payday."

"Vhich might not be as soon as you think," the German responded, his eyes traveling over the crowd.

"What makes you say that? This job is steady!"

As he carefully replaced his trumpet, slowly, he inclined his head at the messy-haired blonde who was currently adjusting his police badge under his coat.

Arthur let out a quick swear as he packed up his guitar, and both of them carefully made their way out of there, exiting with barely any time to spare as a cacophony of noise started up inside as the officer revealed himself.

"Good eye," was all Arthur said as they ran off, "But I'm guessing we're not getting paid tonight."

They walked in silence for a bit, trying to keep from being noticed, when Arthur finally spoke up.

"I wonder if the bookie will take coats as collateral…"

"No. Ve'll freeze!"

"Look, tomorrow we'll have twenty overcoats. Trust me."

"No, ve're not doing it! You can_not_ talk me into this!"

…

"Tomato Romano, huh?"

Amber eyes peered up at him from beneath the dark brim of his fedora, but other than that the mobster's only move was to lift a bright red tomato to his lips and take a huge bite out of it. It wasn't until he finished chewing that he responded.

"Si?" his tenor voice sounded bored as he took another bite.

"Well," Alfred grinned, "It looks like we finally caught you. Quite an ingenious idea, hiding a speakeasy in a funeral parlor like this.'

"What are you talking about?" the Italian tilted his hat back, allowing the American to see a young-looking face with a glare of ice.

"This is yours…"

"No. I am un cliente, like everyone else here."

"Don't lie to me, Tomato, you're the one providing alcohol for this establishment."

"Lies. You're just costing the taxpayers money with stunts like these."

"Well, how about you tell that to your friends down at the station?" Ivan had rejoined him with his handcuffs in his hand, "You might want to call your lawyer."

"These are mio lawyers," Romano lazily waved his hand, gesturing to s brawny companions, all of whom stood with stern looks on their faces, "All graduates from Harvard."

"Um, yeah, sure, whatever."

The Italian smirked, no one would be able to hold Tomato Romano, no matter how hard they tried.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I cannot _believe_ that I let you talk me into another one of your insane schemes!" the German grumbled, wishing for the lost overcoat as his hands felt frozen clutching his trumpet.

"It was a sure thing!" Arthur did his best to keep his teeth from chattering as he attempted to find a way to warm his hands without dropping his guitar.

"10-to-1 odds are not a 'sure thing'! You can't keep betting on the long shot! Scheiße, Arthur, I thought you vere smarter than that!"

Arthur had a habit of taking a gamble. He was a lucky man, usually, and often managed to make it work. That was how they had met, after all. Ludwig's older brother, Gilbert, a police-officer, had dragged the Brit in after a storeowner had accused him of theft. Not only had he managed to be found innocent of the crime, the remorseful storeowner had given him food and a new coat in apology. When Ludwig was doubting whether or not becoming a musician would be the best idea, his new-found friend encouraged him to follow his heart.

Too bad that following his heart put him in debt. Growing up, he thought that he'd have to support Gilbert, not the other way around. Not that Ludwig depended completely on his brother, no, he'd turned away the elder's help when it was offered. Unfortunately, he'd fallen out of touch with his brother when the older Beilschmidt married Madeleine Bonnefoy, preferring not to risk putting a strain on the couple's finances.

He moved in with Arthur to save money, and they had been doing fairly well until lately.

Somehow, the Brit's gambles just kept falling through.

"My buddy assured me it was…"

"Your _buddy_ is a scammer."

They walked into the music building, and started knocking on the doors looking for work. But when they opened the last door, they wished they hadn't.

"ARTHUR!"

The Brit kept a hopeful smile on his face and tried to make a fast exit, "None here either, okay…"

"**Get back in here**."

Escape Attempt: Failed. The men did as they were told, standing in front of an unhappy-looking women with long brown hair in twin-tails tied by red ribbons. She drummed her fingers impatiently against the desk, waiting for them to speak. Her eyes briefly acknowledged Ludwig's existence before focusing completely on the Brit who was doing his best to regain his composure.

'Michelle," Arthur used his most suave voice, but was cut off.

"Do you have any idea how long I waited for you last night?" she glared at him, "That was your thirteenth chance!"

"Thirteenth?" the Brit was confused, "I thought we were still under ten."

"No."

"Well, thirteen is an unlucky number, how about we try for…"

"**No**."

He sighed, "Look, Michelle, Luddy here forgot that he had a doctor's appointment and I had to go with him."

The German gave a visible start, not expecting the sudden fabrication (though he should have, considering Arthur's nature).

Her brown eyes flickered back to Ludwig who did his best to regain his composure. He'd have to trust Arthur for this.

"Why did you have to go with him? He looks capable of doing it himself," she was understandably skeptical.

"You see," Arthur leaned in like he was telling a secret, and reflexively, Michelle did the same, "Ludwig has a terrible phobia of needles.

She gave a very unladylike snort, "Oh, come on."

"It's the truth," his British accent thickened (Ludwig could recall Arthur's last girlfriend remarking that when his accent thickened like that, beware, because that meant he was being quite serious and no one could resist him), "He's had a very bad history with them. In fact, he broke the old doctor's arm when he came at him with the needle. And that's why he needed me to come with him."

"So he could break your arm instead? Or do you need to hold his hand?"

"No, so that he could have someone there to remind him that the doctor's only trying to help him and not to promptly try injuring the person who carries the needle. My main purpose is to distract him whilst the doctor sneaks around and stick him."

"Well, that certainly _does_ sound inconvenient."

Ludwig almost let out a sigh of belief, it seemed like she was going to stop screeching at them for a bit.

"Anyways," Arthur smoothly changed the subject as he leaned away to resume his perfect posture, "The last job didn't pan out. We need to find new jobs now."

"New jobs?" Michelle perked up at this.

"Do you have anything?" the German finally spoke up, reminding the others of his presence.

If they hadn't needed the jobs so badly, the dynamic duo might've felt a little uneasy at the expression on the girl's face.

"Why yes," she said, winking at her boss's secretary, Lili, "Mr. Zwingli's got two jobs lined up for a trumpet-player and a guitarist. Three weeks in Florida."

"Well then," Arthur prepared to rush in, but he was stopped by the petite blonde holding out a hand.

"Big bruder is busy in a meeting right now," she spoke, "You will have to wait until he is finished."

…

"I can't _believe_ this!" Elizabeta exclaimed, pacing about the office, "One's pregnant and the other ran off with a guy! Don't they know what a big deal this gig is?"

She turned on the bespectacled man, "Roderich! How could you have let something like this happen? I oughta fire you!"

To his credit, the man didn't flinch from the brunette's anger, "Miss Hedervary, I am not the girls' babysitter. I just manage your funds."

But she was already gone, spinning back to the blond sitting at the desk.

"I'll have you know," he said, "I'm very busy…"

"I'll give you a hundred dollars."

"…and I am sure I can make time to find girls for you."

"That's more like it. We leave tomorrow at two from the train station. Have them be there."

And with that, she flounced out, followed by the manager as Mr. Zwingli grabbed his phone and started dialing numbers.

He groaned as the door slammed open.

"Vash," emerald eyes peered into his as two hands steadied their owner as he leaned over the businessman's desk, "I hear you've got a job for a trumpet-player and a guitarist."

"I do," he did his best to ignore them as he focused on more numbers.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, surely it was obvious, "I'm a guitarist, and Luddy here is a trumpet-player. Just sign us up…"

"No."

"Vhy?" the German asked.

He finally got the businessman's attention, who looked them up and down for a minute before returning to his search.

"You aren't qualified."

Arthur snorted, "Look, we might not be the best, but we're great players!"

"The issue is not in your playing but in your appearance."

"We can change that!"

"Oh really," Vash looked up at them, "You have to be under twenty-five."

"We can pass for that."

"Your hair has to reach to your shoulders at the very least."

"We can wear wigs."

"You have to be female."

"We can…"

"No ve can't," Ludwig interrupted.

"What?" Arthur asked.

The German glared at him, "Ve are not pretending to be female," he looked at the Swiss man, "Let us know if anything else comes up."

It was then that he grabbed onto his friend's shoulder and pulled him out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

If anyone's actually seen this movie, they might notice that I'm scrambling the characters that England and Germany are supposed to be, just a bit.

This is mainly due to the fact that no matter what, I can't see Germany ever really agreeing to disguise himself as female. I have a better time of seeing England willing to do so, just for a job and for safety.

I don't own either _Some Like it Hot_ or _Hetalia_.

Please enjoy.

Chapter 3

"But Ludwig, it's three weeks in _Florida_!"

"As _girls_."

"It's a _job_, Luddy!"

"Don't call me Luddy."

"What, I don't see you coming up with any good ideas."

"And you aren't coming up vith any either."

"How was it, boys?" Michelle was lounging at her desk, grinning wickedly at them.

Ludwig glared at her, "It vas a job for girls and you know it."

"Aw, too bad," it wasn't convincing at all, "But there is a gig tonight," she handed the paperwork over.

Ludwig took a quick glance at it and frowned, "This is on the other side of town."

"Well then, I suppose you'd better get walking."

He turned to look at Arthur, and noticed that the Brit was…smiling?

"Michelle," he spoke in a smooth voice, leaning over the desk to look her right in the eye, "Are you, _doing_ anything tonight?"

Ludwig wanted to groan, but that would break the magic spell Arthur was creating over the young lady. When the mood hit him, the Brit could be quite the womanizer. All the German could do was hope that there was a reason for him falling into his ways this time.

"_Doing_ anything?" she smiled softly, and twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

"Yes," he breathed out.

"Well, I don't suppose I have any plans. I'm planning on staying home tonight."

"You are?"

"Mmhm," she moved a little closer, and he did the same, "Just me, all by my lonesome."

"Really…" his hand reached down for her coat, "Then I suppose you won't be needing your keys."

Her half-closed eyes shot open as he flipped the keys he had taken from her pocket into the air before slipping them into his own pocket as he shouldered his guitar case and headed for the door.

Ludwig followed him, both of them ignoring the screeches coming from the lady behind them as well as the crashing of porcelain against the closed door and the yells from Mr. Zwingli's office as he felt his wallet start to ache.

They had a gig to get to.

…

"Interesting vay of getting what you want."

"Bugger off, Luddy. You surely didn't think I was going to bonk her and abandon you, did you?"

"Sometimes I vonder."

"Oh shove off, you cheeky bastard."

"Sometimes I vonder just how much of your head is in the job at any given time."

"Butchers, I got the keys. What's so bad about that?"

"Vhat's so bad about that is that you're lapsing back into your Brite-sprechen Sie."

"And you're going native German again. So what's the bloody problem?"

"Just forget it," Ludwig groaned as they finally came to the parking garage, "Let's get the car and go."

"It's about time you started speaking sense," they entered the garage and Arthur called to one of the attendants, "Hey, could we get some gas? Miss Michelle is lending us her car."

One of them nodded and got up from their game of poker to lead them to Michelle's car.

Things finally started to look like they were going to go their way…too bad this illusion wasn't to last.

"Ciao, bastardi!" a smooth tenor interjected as a car entered the garage and the door was open, releasing the mafia of Tomato Romano into the building, the boss smiling wickedly at the attendants who jerked up and away from their poker game.

Immediately, the German and the Brit ducked down to hide behind the car, but the attendant was too slow.

Amber eyes focused on him immediately, "Get over here."

The attendant ran to the wall where his coworkers were being lined up against the wall.

"Ciao Charlie," the leader took a bite of tomato as he walked over to the head of the garage, "We need to have a little discorso."

The overweight man was trembling behind his huge mustache, "R-R-Romano, I…"

"I thought I told you to shave off that baffi. It looks stupido."

"S-s-sorry…"

"And what happened to my money? I've been waiting," he took another bite of the red fruit, "And I dislike waiting."

He made a face, "It's bruised."

To the hiding men's astonishment, he just squeezed his hand and the tomato exploded into pieces all over Charlie. Miraculously, none got on the young mafia member, but then again, it was probably too scared to.

Without taking his gaze off of Charlie, he reached for a handkerchief in one of his men's breast-pockets and cleaned off his hand, "Did you _really_ think that calling the polizia on me would put me away? How stupido of you. You've just given me a bigger reason to be mad. And guess what, Charlie, I don't care that you were a choir boy with Rome. Mio nonno will be upset that you are gone, but blood is thicker than water. He will forgive me. Eventually." He gestured to one of the men at his side, who cocked his gun with a very audible click, making "Charlie" flinch back against the wall.

Unfortunately, the Brit and the German flinched too, and accidentally knocked the hose filling up the tank onto the floor.

The mafioso's shoulders tensed as he whirled around to point a gun of his own at the car the musicians were hiding behind, "I know you are back there. Stop hiding."

The musicians gulped and slowly came out of concealment.

The leader sneered when he saw them, and though he lowered the gun a little, it was obvious that doing so was not putting them out of danger in the slightest, "So we have a potato bastard and a tea bastard. I will have great pleasure in seeing you die."

Looking at the man's expression, Ludwig believed him. This was going to be the end. They wouldn't want any witnesses telling what happened here today.

Fortunately, a loud crash interrupted the Italian, and he jerked his head to see that one of them in the lineup had accidentally knocked over the phone when trying to call for help.

He stared in fear for a moment before grabbing at the phone anyway, figuring that he would be killed just for trying and might as well get the police…_BLAST!_

This was probably the best opening they were going to get. The men ran, Ludwig in the front with Arthur close behind, using his guitar to shield him from behind. As he felt the case rattle, he hoped that the bullet damage wouldn't be too severe.

But they got out, and somehow they lost the mafia. They fled for their apartment, barricaded and locked the door as they covered the windows. They hid in Arthur's bedroom, the only room completely without windows besides the shared bathroom (which was too small to hide in) due to the fact that when the Brit could get his hands on alcohol, he woke up with hangovers that were compounded by the sun shining through the weak shutters.

"What are we gonna do?" Arthur was starting to panic as he paced back and forth, "We're dead if they catch us. DEAD! What do we do?"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

The shout from the usually stoic German was enough to shock the Brit out of his moment of panic. They sat there in uncomfortable silence, just looking at each other in stunned disbelief. What had they done to deserve this fate? They were only prolonging the inevitable. What the mafia wanted, the mafia got…and what the mafia wanted was the two musicians dead.

Arthur felt just about ready to write a letter home, to tell them what happened. His brothers probably wouldn't care, but he felt that he at least owed it to his mother to let her know that she was never going to see him again. But just as he started to reach for paper and pen, and idea struck. He grabbed the phone instead, and started dialing.

"Vhat are you doing?" Ludwig groaned.

"I'm getting us a ride out of here."

"Vith vhat money?"

"It'll be free."

"Vhat are you talk…"

"Sssh!" he then turned his attention to whoever had picked up the phone on the other end and lightened his voice, "Hello, I understand you need a trumpet player and a guitarist?...Yes…yes… tomorrow at 3 at the train station?...we'll be there….thank you!"

"What did you do?" Ludwig didn't know if he wanted to know.

"Got us a job and a way out of here," his friend's voice dropped back to normal, "Now come on, we need to go shopping."

"Shopping?"

Thoughtfully, the Brit reached down and felt his legs, wincing, "And I guess we need to shave as well."

"Shave?"

"Does getting shot at mess with your brains or something? From here on in, you're going to be Louise, and I'm going to be Alice."


	4. Chapter 4

I've been inspired to put more of Alfred's and Ivan's characters in here than I originally planned, as I find myself breaking away from the movie even more. This is even more evidenced by the fact that I am introducing a new character who wasn't in the movie at all.

Wish me luck! I hope this works for the better.

Please review!

Chapter 4

At this moment, Alfred could understand why people risked so much to be able to drink alcohol. If it wasn't illegal, he'd probably be dead-drunk right now.

He groaned and dropped his head onto his desk, relishing the cool feeling soaking into his face that was red with a combination of rage and embarrassment.

How had Romano managed to get out of this? The evidence was sound, Charlie had testified against the criminal, it should've been an easy case.

So why wasn't it? Why wasn't it all cut and dried like it was supposed to be? Romano was supposed to be behind bars right now, not absolved and innocent of all the charges brought against him. If the American ever got another chance to go against the Italian, he'd have to start again from scratch.

_If_ he ever got the second chance.

Alfred F. Jones had staked his pride, his joy, everything he had on capturing Romano. He had spent many sleepless nights piecing together shredded letters like a huge puzzle. He had neglected his friends and family, in the hopes that once he got the promotion for capturing Tomato Romano, he'd have the time and the money to be with them again. He might even have had the chance to meet a nice girl and get married someday.

But that was all over now. There was no room for failures, especially not for failures that made the office start over from scratch to catch just _one_ man. He'd be lucky if he wasn't resigned to drudge work for the rest of his life, the same amount of work he had done to attempt to catch Romano, but for less money and no chance to escape it.

His life was over.

He could see that stupid Commie right now, laughing at him, mocking him. Funnily enough, he was almost looking forward to it right now. It would be better than being ignored or whispered about behind his back. For a bunch of grown men, they gossiped a lot like high school girls.

But at least Braginski found more pleasure in straightforwardly taunting him than he did in ignoring him.

But what if that changed now? It had changed with everyone else around the station. Only yesterday, they were treating him like a hero, now they were treating him like a leper.

"Здравствуйте, вы капиталистических свиней"

Alfred lifted up his head to tell the communist off, but then decided it wasn't worth it after all and let it thunk back onto the desk.

"Speak English, Commie," he groaned.

He could see Braginski tilt his head in brief confusion before sitting down across from the American, making the desk shift slightly under his cheek.

"You usually get more upset when I call you that."

"I have more important things to worry about than you calling me a Capitalist Pig."

"Ah," the Communist's face lit up with glee as he clapped his hands, "You are learning my language! That is good!"

"It's hard not to pick up phrases when you use them every day. You need to find some new insults, Ruskie."

Now he was pouting…great.

"Now that's not a very nice thing to say to someone who's only come to tell you some great news."

Alfred lifted his head to look directly at his coworker.

"I see that got your attention." The Russian was satisfied and smug.

The American just rolled his eyes and buried his head in his arms.

"Shall I go on then?"

"Do as you will, you stinking Commie. Why should I care what good news you got? If it has anything to do with me at all, I'll hear it from someone else."

"Aw, but I think you'd rather hear it from me."

"And why would I rather that?"

"Because."

Alfred slammed his hands against the desk and he stood rapidly, "Stop playing games with me, Red!"

"So you want me to tell you?"

"If it'll get you to go away."

"They gave the job of catching Tomato Romano to me."

At that, the fire that had momentarily flared in the American's veins was extinguished, and his body went limp, causing him to fall back into his chair.

"Good for you," his voice sounded dead, even to his own ears, and his eyes slid to half-closed as he did his best not to show Braginski how this was affecting him.

"Why are you not happy?"

"Because," he choked out a bitter chuckle, "So I suppose you're going to start rubbing it in my face? If I were you, I'd recommend waiting until after you catch that slippery bastard."

"They didn't tell you?" something must be wrong with his eyes, since through his lashes, it looked as though the Commie was concerned.

"Tell me what? That I'm fired from the case? Yeah, they mentioned that. Or do you mean fired from the profession entirely?"

"Neither."

"Then what." It wasn't a question, just indifferent acceptance.

"I'll tell you at my place."

"Who says I'm going with you."

"You're curious. You will follow."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Ah, yes, that is what you Americans say. But is there not a second part saying _And satisfaction brought it back_?"

…

"I should never have worn these shoes," Arthur groaned as they did their best to balance on the high heels, "They don't match my purse."

"Oh, man up, Arthur."

"Get into character, _Louise_."

"How do women _valk_ in these things?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Vell, you knew how to put on the clothes, the makeup, the vigs…"

"Blame my mom. She always had wanted a little girl instead of me and my brothers. Being the youngest for a while meant that I was her dress-up doll."

The German was wearing a blonde shoulder-length bobbed wig that was held away from his face with a blue headband. Nothing could completely hide the sheer masculinity of his face, but the makeup did a good job of softening it. He wore a long navy skirt paired with a white blouse and navy necktie and a black jacket. Ludwig was surprised that they had managed to find a pair of heels to fit his sizable feet, but they had accomplished the difficult task.

Arthur did a better job of looking the part, wearing a dirty blonde wig that was browner than his usual hair color. It was extremely long and done up into pigtails with a little hat perched on top of his head. He had donned a light blue dress with a black jacket.

But he was angry because Ludwig had forced him to pluck his eyebrows. He hadn't taken them all off, but had made them considerably less bushy. At least he had been able to force the burly German to shave his legs, but then again, the Brit had needed the same thing done, exposing both of their legs to the cold that tore through the stockings.

But as they were struggling to keep from falling over, a small woman passed by, walking easily on her heels that were even higher than those of the men, her brown ponytail bouncing gently as she walked.

The paused and stared as she walked past, a carefree expression on her face, every now and then brushing a long curl out of her face.

"So that's how you're supposed to valk…" Ludwig spoke finally, still staring.

"Now that's a girl! Wow, where has she been the entire time we've been here…" Arthur responded.

This earned him a good smack on the head, courtesy of his German friend.

"You're a girl now, remember that Arthur. If you blow this, you might as vell paint huge targets on our backs and parade us in front of Romano."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'm a girl. But so are you, so act less macho already!"

This last bit was hissed under his breath as they approached the people they guessed were in charge, both of whom seemed a little daunted by the German's size.

"Hi," Arthur seemed quite feminine to the point that it was almost scary, "We're the new musicians."

"I am Louise," this voice thing was hard.

"And I am Eileen," she smiled at them, her words startling the German who did his best to not react.

"Oh, um," Elizabeta seemed to be struggling to figure out what exactly to say, "I'm glad that you could join us. If you will just get on the train…?"

Ludwig nodded sharply and the two boarded. The moment they got on, the German immediately pulled Arthur to the side.

"Eileen?"

"To tell the truth, I never really liked the name Alice."

…

Stupid Commie was right. Alfred couldn't believe that he had followed the Russian home like a lost puppy.

Unfortunately, Braginski was somewhat right…Alfred _was_ curious, and worse, he was bored. Anyone who knew the American was aware that when he was bored, he got a little stir-crazy.

At first, it hadn't seemed so bad. Yeah, he was going someplace with the Red, but he could pretend to himself that he was working again, out to investigate a case.

That dream-fantasy fell through when he saw that bastard's house. It was THE house. The very house that Alfred stopped by every now and then to remind himself of his goals to one day purchase the house and raise a family in it.

He wasn't even close to affording it, but the Russian just waltzed in, careless of how much it cost, his boots treading dirt on the floor, staining its clean white appearance. He hated the Communist so much right then, but he did is best to conceal it, at least until after he had heard the reason he was brought here. If he must be dragged here to have it completely rubbed into his face, then he wanted to have it over and done with.

"Sit, Просьба."

It wasn't a word that Alfred often heard from the taller Russian, but the inflection and the other man's gesture towards one of the chairs at the kitchen table, Alfred was able to gather that the word used was something akin to "please".

This only made him more uneasy as he perched on the edge of the chair, ready to jump up the moment he needed to.

"Relax, Jones, I'm just trying to be hospitable."

Alfred was tempted to growl at that moment.

Braginski then sat down across from him with a large bottle, and swiftly removed the cork.

"What's that?" the American eyed the bottle uneasily.

"Vodka."

Alfred nearly fell out of his chair at that.

"What? You can't!"

"This is my house, is it not?"

"It's illegal!"

"What the force don't know won't hurt them."

"_I'm_ on the force, and so are you!"

The Russian chuckled, "Oh, Jones, surely you did not believe that no one on the force drunk? Tell me you are joking."

Alfred most certainly was NOT joking. The Russian surely must be joking. No officer would partake of something illegal like this!

Braginski must've read his thoughts on his face, for he spoke, "You are not joking then?"

"Why would I?"

"Have you ever had alcohol?"

Alfred bit his lip, refusing to respond.

"No? We must fix that then," grabbing a glass, he poured some of the liquid into it before pushing it across the table to the other officer.

The American caught it before it could slide off the table out of reflex, and then looked down at the liquid deemed evil by Prohibition.

Decidedly, he pushed it away, "No."

The Russian grinned, "Drink."

"No."

"Drink, or I tell you nothing."

"I'll tell the cops about this."

"No one likes a snitch. That would be against your hero complex, wouldn't it?"

Alfred did growl at this, and the Russian just looked pleased. He had found a chink in the American's armor.

Jones looked back at the innocent-looking glass, and pondered.

His life was over anyways. And if Braginski was trying to take him down, he'd bring the Russian down with him.

"Are you scared?"

That was enough. The American grabbed the shot and upended it into his mouth, only to promptly sputter and cough at the burning sensation tearing at his throat.

Across the table, he could hear the Russian laughing at him. He looked up, eyes watering, to see the Russian wiping tears of mirth from his own eyes.

"I must thank you for that, Comrade. I have not laughed much lately."

"Whatever," he felt strangely apathetic now that the burning was gone, "Just tell me what you wanted to tell me so that I can leave."

"Da," the Russian nodded before taking a large gulp from his own cup, drinking it like it was water, "But you might not want to leave once you hear my news."

"I already want to go, so get it over with."

**...**

Ludwig was astonished to see how quickly the girls had accepted him and Arthur. He was surprised how…_coarse_ some of them were. They didn't even seem to find the huge German to be suspicious.

But then again, what reason would they have to be suspicious? They know that Elizabeta wouldn't allow men anywhere near them, with the exception of the harmless Roderich.

A statuesque Spaniard named Antonia kept throwing out dirty jokes, much to the apparent embarrassment of the cute little blond sitting next to her. He had to feel sorry for the girl he learned was called Madeleine, especially since she was squeezed between Antonia and a girl who looked oddly familiar who introduced herself as Gillian. Strangely enough, she seemed to recognize him, if the widening of her crimson eyes were any indication.

Arthur was quite visibly staring at those very girls, along with all the rest. Any attempt on the German's part to change his focus failed in epic proportions.

So, the German did what he normally did, grabbed the shorter man by his shirt to get him to listen.

"Remember, _Eileen_, you're a girl! No messing around!"

Arthur glared at him, "Thanks, wanker, you just tore one of my knockers off!"

The smaller man crossed his arms across his chest in an attempt to keep it from being overly obvious that something was wrong there. He walked a little ways before turning to look at the German, "Are you coming?"

The German sighed as he went to help the Brit find a restroom to fix his…chest. They finally found it, opened the door, and saw the girl from earlier, drinking out of a tiny silver flask.

As soon as she noticed that she wasn't alone, she was trying to hide it behind her back. When she realized that it wasn't either Elizabeta or Roderich, she relaxed visibly.

"Oh, you're not going to tell on me, are you?" she asked as she took another gulp. The men hurriedly shook their heads as they shut the door behind them.

"All the girls do it," she continued speaking as she drank, "But I'm the only one that gets caught," she took another drink, "It's not like I have a problem with it. I could stop any time I wanted to. Only thing is, I don't want to. Oh, my name is Feliciana Vargas, by the way."

"Italian?" Arthur asked. He felt a little apprehensive, remembering the last Italian they had run into, but this girl didn't look as though she could even manage to kill a fly. In fact, she seemed the type of person that, while trying to kill the fly, would manage to whack herself in the head.

"Si, ve~!" she looked happy that he managed to get it right.

"I'm Eileen, the new guitarist."

Ludwig didn't like the tone Arthur was getting, but if this girl was as oblivious as she appeared, they might get out of here without much trouble, "Louise. Trumpet."

She smiled brightly at them, "Ve~, I'm the singer. I also play piano, but I cannot get much practice since you can't carry a piano with you! I come from a musical family, you know. My mother was a piano teacher, and my father was a conductor."

"Where did he conduct?" Ludwig asked.

"On the Baltimore and Ohio," she continued smiling happily as she leaned forward, her brown ponytail bouncing lightly as she held out the flask, "Would you like some pasta?"

…

"What?" the American slouched in his seat, unable to believe it.

"I want you to work with me on this case," Braginski repeated.

Alfred looked down at his now-empty glass, "This stuff must be stronger than I thought."

"If you got drunk off that little, then you deserve to be joked with."

"Ok, assuming that you're telling the truth…"

"I am."

"…why do you want _me_? I lost the guy, remember?"

"That is true."

The words stabbed at the American, but he did his best not to let it show.

"But," the Russian wasn't finished, "You got the closest that anyone's ever gotten to him. No one's brought him to trial before."

Alfred laughed scornfully, "And look how much good _that_ did."

"The only reason you failed was that you got a corrupt judge."

Blue eyes widened.

"What?"

"You're awfully naïve, aren't you?" Braginski smiled, "It's quite amazing how innocent one can be in the ways of the world."

"Shut up! You're lying!"

But the older man didn't stop, "Romano's men bribed the judge to find him innocent of all accusations. Your case was completely sound."

Blue eyes widened.

The Russian held out a hand to the American, "I promise you, Comrade, we'll get him this time."

"And how can you promise that?"

The smile that now crossed his face bordered on creepy, "Let us just say that I have the connections to get us a fair trial."

Braginski rose to his feet, reaching out a hand across the table towards Alfred, "So, what do you say Jones?"

To his own amazement, Alfred found himself standing as well, reaching out his hand towards the one man he had thought of as his enemy.

"Why not? It's not like I've got anything left to lose."

The Russian laughed gleefully as they shook hands, "Wonderful. Now we must get started."

"We have to wait for him to make a move first though," the American pouted, good mood starting to vanish.

"He already has."

"Huh?"

"He and his men shot up a garage."

"We need witnesses, Commie, they don't take anything on hearsay. And these men…I can tell you they left no witnesses."

"Not intentionally."

Blue eyes showed confusion as a blond head tilted to the side in bewilderment.

"Two men escaped and are hiding from Romano. If we find them before he does…"

"…then we got him!" Alfred grabbed for the bottle and poured himself another drink before gulping it down.

"I'm glad that you're taking to Russian water so well."

Alfred gave a reckless grin as he downed a second glass, heedless of the burning that ran down his still-raw throat, "I feel like a new man, Russkie."

"Ivan."

"What?"

"My name is Ivan. If we are to be working together like this, we should be friends, da?"

Alfred laughed, "Da! Just call me Alfred, Commie, and let's go get that Italian bastard!"

…

After Ludwig and Arthur finally managed to reattach Arthur's chest, they turned to leave, only to be stopped by a girl with long white-blonde hair who blocked the exit.

"West, what the hell are you doing here?"

Arthur turned to look at Ludwig who seemed stunned.

"Gilbert?"


	5. Chapter 5

I'd like to dedicate this story to _Chi-Chan16_, whose review has inspired me to continue this story for the few people who like it. Problem is, I don't know if people like it unless they review, so please, everyone, review to give me encouragment!

I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Once again, thank you, _Chi-Chan16_.

Chapter 5

The Brit was shocked at first, but upon looking closer, it seemed quite obvious that the albino was his friend's brother…dressed as a girl.

"I could ask you the same thing, East."

All three of them had the grace to look a little ashamed of themselves as they realized how this must look to any outsider if they were to know their secrets.

Three full-grown men, dressed to the nines in a feminine wardrobe.

And, of course, if it wasn't embarrassing enough as it was, Arthur's tights were starting to itch him.

"Running from the mafia," Ludwig responded, looking quite obviously masculine, despite of his clothes, "You?"

"Wait, _you_ are the ones who pissed off Tomato Romano? West, I'm quite impressed. Didn't know you had it in you!"

"East, for gott's sake, what are you doing here?"

It was more of a command than a question. The go-lucky grin slid off of the self-proclaimed Prussian's face, as a serious mask took its place.

"Well, first, let me say that it's not what you're thinking."

"And what would that be?"

"I'm pretty sure that you don't need me to explain it considering what you've accused me of before now!"

"Then why are you here?"

"We had word that Romano's girlfriend was on this train. I…drew the short straw, and got shaved like a sheep in shearing season," he looked his younger (but taller) brother right in the eye, "I do have lines that I won't cross, bruder, despite what you might think. It's not like I'm here for fun. I am married after all."

Funnily enough, Ludwig _had_ forgotten that little detail, despite the fact that he had often prided himself on his memory. He found it somewhat depressing that he couldn't recall the name or the face of his brother's bride.

He noticed his brother glance towards the door before leaning in closer to whisper to the two, "As it is, even if I _wanted_ to come for fun, I wouldn't be able to do so. Maddie is here with me, and somehow she managed to fit a hockey stick in her trunk. I'm in good hands, bruder, so keep your focus on keeping your own cover instead of watching me. When we get to Florida, I'll telephone my contacts so we can see about getting both of you police protection."

"I heard Charlie, the guy that got killed, had police protection," Arthur interjected into the discussion, "Excuse me if it doesn't make me feel safe."

"Romano's not going to be expecting you two to pretend to be women. Also, reports say that he is very nice to women, so as long as you keep your cover, you should be safe."

"Should. _Should_. I don't know about you, Luddy, but that makes me feel _very _ safe."

…

Arthur was thinking back on that conversation, even as the band was practicing. He had met Gilbert's Madeleine, a shy-looking girl who was performing with a saxophone that made it look like its weight would topple her over any moment. Gilbert was performing with the cello.

"Louise, Eileen," Elizabeta barked, interrupting the Brit's daydream, "Where did you play before you came here?"

The guys looked uneasily at each other before Arthur answered, "Funerals, miss."

"Well, do you mind joining the world of the living? Pick up that beat!"

A devilish smile crossed Arthur's face, "We'd be delighted to, miss."

They both picked up the beat, joining the rest of the band in a fairly quick song, and Feliciana started to sing. She had a high and clear soprano that filled the room. Ludwig almost stopped breathing as he heard her, and for a moment Arthur was missing the strings before he realized he had stopped playing.

Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all. Ludwig did his best to focus on the music, but it was getting rather difficult when Feliciana started to dance.

The song seemed to speed by, until finally they were at the end, and Feliciana struck a pose in front of the band…

…and her flask fell from where she had been hiding it on her thigh.

She backed up quickly as Roderich walked forward, opened the flask and sniffed it.

"Spaghetti," he said, looking critically at the girls, "Whose flask is this?"

His eyes focused on Feliciana, who was biting her lip nervously, "Feliciana, what have we said about the pasta," he started lecturing her until he was interrupted.

"Hey, Roddy," Arthur spoke up, "May I have my flask back now?"

"Sure," Roderich handed it over and continued scolding Feliciana before it hit him what was said exactly, "Wait, what did you say?"

"My flask," Arthur responded, "I find that pasta is just the thing when you feel not so good."

"Miss Eileen," Elizabeta spoke up, walking forward, "You will be given a pardon this time, but there are two things that I refuse to tolerate near my girls, and that is pasta and _men_."

She looked directly at the disguised _men_, "I _hope_ that will not be a problem."

"Oh, don't be silly," Arthur fake-laughed, "We just _despise_ men, don't we Louise? Hairy, stinky, _pigs_ that they are…"

"I beg your pardon,"Roderich interjected, offended, but no one seemed to notice as Elizabeta gave a little sigh of relief.

"Well, make sure you keep to those ideals. I don't like losing members of my band, but if you sneak around with pasta and men, then I will not hesitate to kick you out immediately, no matter where we are."

The boys exchanged a look. It appears that there's no chance they'd receive any mercy if they got found out. Arthur and Ludwig had on good authority from Gilbert that the woman was unafraid to whack any men who came near her band on the head with a frying pan that she seemed to pull out of thin air.

…

Arthur was trying to get to sleep, doing his best to forget that there were so many beautiful women around him. No, he's a girl, and must continue acting like it or he might as well be waving a red flag in front of Tomato Romano.

It was so difficult; his urges to be the perfect British gentleman was running rampant.

_I'm a girl, I'm a girl, I'm a…_

"Eileen?"

Arthur turned his head to see Feliciana peering in through the curtains on his berth.

"Yes?"

"Um, I wanted to thank you for helping me out earlier. You're a real friend."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all sweetheart."

"Still, thank you. If they had caught me one more time, they were going to throw me off the train! I really owe you!"

"Don't thou worrie darling. What else are mates for?"

Feliciana looked a little confused at that, "You aren't from around here, are you?

"No, actually, I hail from England, love."

"Like mio nonno! Except he comes Italia, not Inghilterra. I hear that there are unicorns in England, is this true?"

Remembering how he had felt when the bullies at his school crushed his dream of meeting a unicorn one day by telling him that they didn't exist when he was at the tender age of sixteen, Arthur described the magical beings that he had always wanted to see.

But then suddenly the Italian girl was diving into his birth, startling the British man who did his best to try to ignore the fact that she was pressed up against him in a small space.

"What-"

A slender manicured hand covered his mouth, "Sssh. Signorina Elizabeta is up."

They stayed like that for a while before the petite girl finally relaxed, "She's gone…I think I should stay here until she's been asleep for a while."

"Honey, ye stay as long as ye want."

What was _with_ him and lapsing into his old accent whenever he got nervous?

"Grazie, ve~," she snuggled up, "It's just like a slumber party, isn't it? I used to crawl into bed with mio fratello all the time when I had a bad dream! Oh!"

"What is it?"

"Your feet are cold, Eileen!" he could see the wide smile, even in the dark compartment, "Let me warm them up!"

Before he had the chance to refuse, her feet were rubbing against his in an effort to warm them up.

"There, nice and toasty."

"Yeah," Arthur mumbled, trying to force his brain to remember that he needed to be a girl right now.

"Are you feeling alright?" Feliciana asked, "Are you feeling sick?"

"Maybe a little," he responded.

"Should I go get Signorina Elizabeta?"

"No!" he responded, almost too loud, before continuing in a softer voice, "No, I'm sure it'll go away on its own. But do you know what I think will help?"

"What?"

"Well..."

"Ooh! I know! Pasta!"

"Did you say pasta?" a brunette head asked, sticking her head through the curtains, "Is this a private party or can anyone join in?"

"Private!" Arthur tried to say, but Feliciana interrupted.

"Oh, Antonia! Do you have any more of your tomatoes? And can you get me my pasta please?"

"Sure!" Antonia ignored Arthur's hissing complaints, "Be right back!"

If he wasn't desperately trying to be a girl, or hiding from a woman who seemed likely to castrate if she found him out, Arthur might've been fairly happy in this situation as he was practically buried under a mountain of girls.

As it was…he couldn't understand how Feliciana was the only one that ever got caught.

…

Ludwig stirred at the sound of high-pitched voices outside his berth. Suddenly snapping to awareness, he just barely remembered where he was and what the situation was before he could bellow out a request for silence. His voice would've given him away if he had yelled.

"Eileen?" Ludwig hissed up into the crowded berth above his head. He was glad to not see any white-blonde hair that would suggest that his brother was up there, and the fact that only two berths were closed off made him note that Madeleine was also staying out of this mess.

There was no response from his partner in crime, but suddenly a brown head appeared next to his berth.

"Oh, Louise, did we wake you?"

Ludwig was slightly confused, "Um, yes, vell…"

"Oh, sono spiacente, Louise. Ma, do you think you could give me a hand, ve~?"

"With what?"

She gave him a huge grin, "I need to cook the pasta! There's not enough room, not to mention there is no stove in Eileen's berth, so we need to go to the bathroom and cook it there!"

He blinked. Must still be dreaming…how could you cook pasta in a _bathroom_?

Well, if this is a dream, he supposed he might as well follow her. So he nodded his head and did so.

…

There was no way Ludwig could believe it. How the Hölle was she able to make pasta without alerting anyone…actually, how was she making pasta any_how_? It shouldn't be possible to make pasta in a train sleeper car.

"You have an interesting accent, Louise."

"It's German."

"Si, I know, ve~!"

"If you know then vhy did you ask?"

"I don't know," she gave him a ditzy smile.

"You should not ask questions for no reason," Ludwig chastised her, and she looked sheepish as she turned her attention back to the pasta.

"Sono spiacente," she murmured.

Great, now he was feeling bad.

"It's okay," he sighed, placing a hand on her head to give her hair a little bit of a ruffle. Cautiously, she looked up to give him a small smile, which quickly enlarged to become a huge grin.

"Ve~, you aren't scary at all, are you Louise?"

Ludwig found himself briefly enchanted by that sweet smile.

"Did you ever have a boyfriend?"

What?

"Vas?"

"A boyfriend, did you have one?"

"Ah, nein. Boys have never really…liked me like that."

Well, wasn't _that_ the truth?

"Oh? I don't understand why. You might be a little scary looking at times, but you're very nice!"

"Uh, thanks?" He decided to take that as a compliment, "Vhat about you? Any boyfriends in your past?"

She frowned a little at that, "Ve~, waaaay too many ragazzi. All trumpet players too. You see, I know I'm not the brightest crayon in the box, if I was then I wouldn't be here with this second rate girl's band. I mean, I used to play with boy-bands, but I just can't take it anymore! No matter where I go, there they are, and I just have to keep running. But I just have this _thing_ about trumpet players. All they really have to do is play several bars of "Come to Me, My Melancholy Baby", and…well, I come. And then it's all downhill from there. They always borrow your money and use it on worthless things like betting, and then suddenly, they're gone. All you have left is some dirty pasta dishes and an empty tube of toothpaste. And then you swear to yourself that it won't ever happen again, but then you see another trumpet player and the cycle happens all over again. _But not this time_. See, Miss Elizaveta won't let any guy near us, and so I can avoid this cycle! I'm really tired of getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop. Oh, the pasta's done!"

"But," Ludwig exclaimed, confused at the sudden change of topic, "You're going to Florida…?"

"Miss Elizaveta is very nice, I don't want to leave her in the lurch," a mischievous smile crossed her face, "Besides, I swore off dating trumpet players, not rich men. Oh, but don't get me wrong, Louise, I'm not shallow. In fact, I don't even care how rich he is. I just hope that he has his own mansion, just a small yacht, an automobile, and his own toothpaste. And glasses! Guys with glasses are usually smart, unlike me! Oh, I also want him to have his own pasta, ve~!"

Was it wrong to think that such a shallow statement was so incredibly _cute_?


	6. Chapter 6

I was thinking...if fem!Italy is Marilyn Monroe, could fem!England be Doris Day?

Thanks to the new reviewers, as well as the old! Knowing people appreciate this story encourages me to keep writing.

Chapter 6

It had been a close call last night, but a sudden stop of the train had caused all of the girls to return to their berths before Miss Elizaveta came to check on them, and this included the usually luckless Italian. Sure, Elizaveta and Roderich were slightly confused as to why there was hot water boiling in the bathroom, but eventually brushed it off as an oddity after "Eileen" claimed to have been using it to prepare some tea, but fell asleep before it was ready.

HOW it came to boil was not discussed.

But they were finally arriving in Florida…and Ludwig was positive that he had fallen in love with Feliciana.

Arthur considered this complete bonkers since Ludwig had only had _one_ complete conversation with her. Despite being a fan of Shakespeare, the Brit was a firm disbeliever in "Love at First Sight". Besides, he couldn't really see the bubbly brunette with his somber German friend. Even if Ludwig thought he had some sort of "connection" with her, it was for his own good that he didn't get mixed up with this mantrap, even if she did, as Ludwig had said "always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop". To be completely honest, Arthur had to swallow his laughter when he heard Ludwig say "lollipop" and the mental recording kept him chuckling for the rest of the ride.

Ludwig had accused him of wanting Feliciana for himself and hadn't believed the Brit when he denied the accusation. She really was quite an attractive girl, but just being around her made Arthur feel old with how bouncy she was and how peppy and excited she acted.

So, yeah, no slice of Italian pastry for him, thank you very much.

But getting off the bus, Arthur sought to be a gentleman and offered to carry Feliciana's sheet music for her. Ludwig, being the jealous sort, had promptly dumped the trumpet into his arms and left to walk with Feliciana.

That arsehole.

So here he was, juggling sheet music, a trumpet, and his guitar, AND struggling to walk in the stinking HEELs women wear. His feet were KILLING him.

As he walked up past the porch, one of his shoes fell off, and Arthur had to restrain himself from giving a _very_ unladylike swear as he fumbled around with his foot, trying to figure out _some_ way to get it back on his foot.

Then, suddenly somewhere was there, lifting the shoe to his foot. Arthur looked down to see tousled golden curls above twinkling blue eyes.

"Allow me, Madmoiselle," he said, guiding his foot into the shoe, "Je suis appelé Francis Bonnefoy."

"Oh, thank you," Arthur responded, smiling at him before giving him a frown, "So you're a Frog."

"I beg your pardon?" the French man seemed completely startled by the un-charming response.

"Sorry, bad experiences with the French," Arthur forced a smile, "But thanks."

"All is forgiven, though I am sorry you have had such bad experiences with my compatriots," Mr. Bonnefoy gave a suave smile, "Do you need any help? I could take one instrument…"

"Sure," the Brit promptly dumped both of the instruments and the sheet music into his grip. The Frenchman seemed a bit surprised, but smiled as he followed the disguised man to the elevator.

"One around," Francis tilted his head towards the shivering young bellhop, "And keep your eyes forward, oui?"

Arthur tilted his head, confused, but shrugged it off as one of the eccentricities of the rich.

He should've known better.

**…**

Ludwig had known that Arthur wouldn't have been happy about being made to carry everything, but he wasn't expecting the Brit to be _this_ mad.

Arthur's face was a furious red, and if this was a cartoon, steam would've been coming out of his ears. Thick eyebrows were lowered dangerously over sparking emerald eyes, and the expression on his face was something that Gilbert had always called the "Pirate Face", often followed by a couple of titles of "Captain Arthur Kirkland".

So while Arthur was smiling, ever so slightly, it was NOT a nice smile.

"That blooming plonker!" he practically roared as he all-but THREW the bags onto the bed and stomped across the room.

"What happened?"

"That bloody Frog felt me up in the elevator!"

Ludwig had an image of the amphibian feeling up his friend (awkward since they'd be of very different species, not to mention that even Arthur was taller than a frog) before he remembered that "Frog" was the term the Brit used for the French.

"Pardon?"

"I got groped, you kraut!"

The German glared at him, but other than that, gave no other reaction. He couldn't have said that he would not be similarly upset if that had happened to him, but then again, he might've broken the man's hand for him…

The Brit flopped down onto his bed, hand to his forehead in a dramatic manner, "Oh, why am I cursed to be so beautiful as a woman? You don't have this problem, Ludwig, be glad that you make an ugly woman!"

"Hey," Ludwig growled. Sympathy…he didn't _deserve_ sympathy any more.

"Oh, don't bother lying to yourself," emerald eyes glared around a pale hand, "If you'll excuse me saying so, you are one fine hunk of a man, and therefore you make a terrible woman, especially with all those muscles. Me, I've always been on the slender side, more feminine looking, even got teased about it, and NOW I find that I make an extremely beautiful woman? Well, isn't THAT a great hit to the self-esteem? Maybe I should've been born a woman, it'd be easier that way! Mum certainly would've preferred it!"

Ludwig sighed as he heard some sniffles coming from the other bed that were trying to be valiantly stifled. He was no good at this comforting thing at all. Arthur was usually the one who knew all of the right things to say. Not that Ludwig was usually down in the dumps, but just in general. There was a reason why the Brit got all of the girls. His usual charm and good looks worked greatly together, whereas Ludwig's size and expression usually resulted in fear.

But not with Feliciana. Granted, she was friendly with _Louise_, but apparently even as a woman, he was intimidating. Maybe that was what drew him so strongly to her. She was so kind and gentle…it made him feel as though he was fresh out of the fairytale of "Beauty and the Beast".

He sat down on the bed next to Arthur, and placed his large hand on the smaller man's head, in a gesture reminiscent of what he had done to Feliciana earlier. He searched his mind for something, ANYTHING to say.

"You haven't been drinking again, have you?" To be fair, this was a good question. The few times they had managed to get their hands on alcohol, the Brit had usually ended up crying like a baby about things that confused him and his "little brother" who had apparently left him for some reason. Ludwig had given up trying to understand what ailed his friend in his moments of drunkenness.

There was a silence, and then Arthur started shaking again, and the German feared that he had said something wrong.

It was only after a moment that he realized that the Brit was laughing now.

"So, no longer Protestant or Catholic, but male or female?" he laughed, pushing his hair out of his face as he smiled, mocking himself, "Well, won't this give 'em more of a reason to throw me out of bars back in England?"

Ludwig frowned, "Are you planning on going back soon?"

"Maybe if I could get enough money," Arthur stared up at the ceiling, "I know that this is supposed to be a land of opportunity, but I'm not seeing it. Besides, I miss being able to drink like I used to. Don't tell me that you don't feel the same, Ludwig. I've seen you eyeing those pints back when we were playing at speakeasies."

"Ja, I know."

Suddenly, Arthur started laughing again, "The life of the skint starving musician isn't as romantic as it seems BEFORE you are starving and shivering because you just traded away your coat…"

"No, YOU traded away our coats, Arthur. That was completely your own fault."

"So now we're playing the blame game, huh? Well, isn't that nice."

"I don't get paid to be nice, Arthur."

"A good thing too, or else we'd have been broke for much longer."

The German growled as he swatted at his friend's shoulder, "Your sympathy party is over now."

Arthur sat up, still chuckling at his own joke, just in time for both of them to hear a knocking on the door. Hurriedly, they made sure that their wigs were still in place before Arthur got to his feet to answer the door.

"Oh, 'ello Feliciana," Ludwig heard the higher voice that "Eileen" used, and turned his head to see his friend beckoning the sprightly brunette into their rooms. She eagerly plopped herself down on one of the beds and started bouncing up and down in a very distracting manner.

"Feliciana, do you think you could stop bouncing?"

"Sono spaciente, Louise, but I can't help it! I'm just so excited, ve~!"

"About what?" Arthur asked in a kind voice. Ludwig was surprised to notice that his friend's eyes were no longer red and tearful, but bright and clean like freshly cut emeralds. Musician was the wrong calling for his friend, it appeared that he would have been better suited as a thespian.

"We're finally here! I can't wait to get my billionaire!"

Ah, that's right. Feliciana was looking for a rich husband, not a bum musician who got himself in so much trouble that he needed to disguise himself as a woman to get out of it.

Therefore, he was going to set a plan in motion that would make the Brit proud. And this was why he was going to turn down the invitation to go down to the beach with "Eileen" and Feliciana.

"But what about your swimsuit, Eileen?" he couldn't help but ask.

Arthur's face fell at the realization, but Feliciana wasn't deterred.

"~Ve! The hotel provided us with some! I brought up a variety of sizes for you two!"

"That's wonderful, Feli!"

Was it sad how much like a girl Arthur looked right now?

"No thank you, Feliciana," "Lousie" refused graciously, "I think I'd rather take a nice long soak."

"Oh, okay," the little Italian looked a little put out, but quickly regained her cheer as she handed over the suits to Eileen and they decided they'd meet in the lobby to join the others at the beach.

"Smart move," Arthur confided to Ludwig, "You'd never be able to pull one of the suits of."

"As I recall," the German responded (with perhaps a little malice), "a few minutes ago, you were wishing that you were the same."

A frown crossed the Brit's face as Ludwig chuckled to himself, before remembering that his brother had come by a few moments before the Englishman had arrived.

"Arthur, Fräulein Elizaveta is making it very difficult for bruder to get access to the telephones. The police protection will be a long ways in coming."

The Brit nonchalantly tucked his pigtails under the swimcap, "Well, then I suppose it's a good think that I wasn't planning on it then. Cheerio, my good man!"

And with that, the shorter man left, leaving the German to his "soak".

But while Ludwig DID turn on the bath and filled it up with sudsy water, he did not get in.

Instead, he pulled out the false bottom of his suitcase and took out the dressy clothes he had stashed there, not wanting to leave behind the expensive wear, nor desiring to sell them. He pulled off the wig and slicked back his hair in his usual style before pulling on a hat that suggested him being the captain of a ship (present from Gilbert). Finally, he pulled out his reading glasses and placed them on his face.

He was ready.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry for the late and short update. I'll do my best to make the next longer, but I hope that this little update might help kickstart more inspiration.

Hope everyone enjoys!

* * *

Okay, this felt a little wrong…well, more than a little.

Flouncing around in a girl's swimsuit was definitely not something he had ever seen himself doing. He reached up a hand to scratch at the swimming cap, grateful for something to help keep the long wig on his head.

But he decided to do his best to push the wrongness to the side as he did his best to pretend that he was nothing more than a girl out with her friends.

Even if said girl was actually a man.

And therefore, it was with a very feminine mindset that Arthur did his best to ignore the eyes on him from that stupid Frog. Instead, he turned to smile at Feliciana as they joined Antonia and Lottie in running for the ocean to splash around in the waves for a little bit.

…

Ludwig proceeded down to the beach, doing his best to look as aristocratic and stuck up as humanly possible.

He felt a little embarrassed and ashamed of his plan, but he just had to know whether or not Feliciana would react like everyone else who saw him, even if he pretended to be rich…

Oh, who was he kidding anyways? He just wanted to see if she had any attraction to him. It was a despicable reason to toy with her heart like this…

Maybe

…

"I must say, Alfred, I am surprised you got him last time."

"Shut up, commie! If you'd let me do this my way, we'd have gotten him already!"

"Police procedure says that we let the witnesses come to us."

"Police procedure stinks! No one's going to willingly come to us, we've got to go to them and ask them to come forward!"

""We are supposed to…"

"No, we are _supposed_ to save people! Do you think Charlie came forward of his own free will or something? I had to ask him real nicely, and even then it took some sweetening of the deal!"

"Wow, Jones. I'm proud that you would do something like that. I thought you were all about following the law?"

"Don't start with me, Braginski. Sometimes if you want to take care of the big rat, you have to let some of the mice go. But you won't have any mice to squeak unless you go out looking for them!"

"They will come to us."

"No, they won't! It seems like everyone is doing something illegal nowadays, and they're all scared of the mob! And if they weren't before, they definitely are now!"

"No one knows about Charlie. It's confidential police business, da?"

"Nyet," Alfred sighed, shaking his head as he went to close the door. He hated feeling like everyone was watching him, making bets on how long this partnership would work out, "You might know a lot about corrupt government junk, but you know nothing about the people we're here to protect. Confidential police business means that everyone knows it, just quietly, and the fact that Charlie DIED means that everyone knows it, but no one will talk about it."

"Well then, comrade," the Russian looked down at the American, "What would you suggest we do?"

No matter how hard he searched, Alfred found himself hard-put to find any sign of being patronized in that question.

"Well," he said, taking a breath, "Since it's likely that the witnesses have either fled town or been killed by now, I suggest we go down to Florida. We had better hope that Gilbert found the girlfriend."

…

Feliciana laughed as she just barely missed catching the volleyball the girls were tossing around.

"Better go get it!" Eileen was laughing cheerfully, "Hurry, lass!"

"I'm going, ve~!" but suddenly the sand shifted under her feet, forcing her to fall and sprawl on the sand.

"Oh, gott, are you alright?" a deeply accented voice asked, causing her to look up as she was helped up by a large man that almost seemed to dwarf her in size.

"Ve~ of course I am," she giggled.

"Are you sure?"

"Si," she used her hand to shade her eyes so that she could see his face. It looked so strong and handsome.

"I'm glad," he truly looked relieved to see that she was alright, "Usually when people get into accidents around me, then find out who I am, they tend to sue."

_That_ got her attention, "Sue?"

She sidled up behind him as he sat down in his beach chair.

"Indeed," he opened up his book, but she wasn't about to let this one get away.

"If you'll excuse me for asking, why would they want to sue you?"

"Promise not to yell."

She nodded eagerly, and he gestured her over to whisper something in her ear.

When he finished, she backed away, clapping her hands over her mouth in an attempt to keep her giggles of glee from emerging.

Finally, a real live millionaire!


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, I can hear the wind whistling outside of my dorm through my earbuds.

No way am I going back outisde.

Sorry that it's been so long since my last update, and I'm sorry it's on the short side, but please enjoy!

Review?

* * *

Arthur was starting to get tired of waiting for Feliciana to return with the ball. Was the lass's attention span _really_ that short? The Brit hadn't thought it would be possible.

So, reluctantly, he left the happy, laughing circle of girls, shuddering briefly as he felt eyes upon him again, making his way to where Feliciana appeared to be talking quite animatedly to a large man in a small chair, his nose stuck in a book…

There seemed to be something extremely familiar about him…?

**…**

The Russian resisted yawning as he waited impatiently for the American to finish coaxing information from a civilian. What was _with_ these people? They didn't like the mob either, yet every word against them had to be pried from them with a crowbar.

This was the main reason he had wanted Jones…no, Alfred now, on the case with him. While people did tend to spill their guts quicker around the larger man, Ivan had found from experience that a good portion was merely what they thought HE wanted to hear, and not what the truth actually WAS. And even if what they knew and the truth DID match up, it still usually ended up with it being garbled to the point that he couldn't make much (if ANY use of it).

Unobtrusively, he took a quick swig of his Russian water. When he started this gig, he had been much more cautious about drinking out in public, but with a few well-placed glares, he was usually left alone in this matter.

He smirked. Without his vodka, he'd be a much more unpleasant man to be around. Sure, maybe this was a bit hypocritical, but anyone who'd seen him when he was completely dry would never want to see that again.

But that was another good reason to work with Fredka, the smaller American actually had the guts to stand up to him, even when in one of his rages (even if they weren't quite as bad as his completely dry ones were). Ivan respected that, he really did.

Bored, he felt his eyes wandering around the place where Alfred had insisted on having the interrogation…the American's house.

How could someone live in such a small place? The question often crossed his mind as he trailed his hand across the few shelves and mantles, all of them dust-free. He never asked, even HE knew that it wasn't a very polite question. Normally, he wouldn't care and just go ahead to ask it anyways, but this time something held him back. Maybe it was the humble look in the American's eyes when he introduced the Russian to his home.

But he wondered it all the same.

Ivan fought back a sigh of relief as he saw Alfred get up and show the little mouse out, only to fight back a groan as the American turned to look at him with an expression that the Russian had learned meant that there was now someone else they would have to interrogate.

Why couldn't it be as simple as busting a few heads to get what he needed?

The only thing that kept him sane was the thought that in a few hours they'd be on a train headed to Florida, intent on apprehending Romano, and (if they were lucky) the rest of the mafia, including the infamous Rome.

**… … …**

It was Ludwig.

Ludwig was tricking the little Italian.

In any other scenario, Arthur would've been encouraging this deceit, and even helping, but not in this scenario. He had come to be fond of Feliciana (though not as much as he was of Ludwig) in a brotherly manner, and had the feeling that this trick was setting them both up for heartbreak and trouble.

And trouble didn't sound favorable for staying low and not getting caught.

And _that_ would be the reason behind the stern glance he gave Ludwig, before grinning mischievously as he tuned back in to what Feliciana was saying, about how apparently "Louise" had said that she would find love on this trip.

"Well then, let's go tell her right now!" Stealing a quick glance at the normally impassive German, he was somewhat pleased to see his friend's face blanch.

Oh yes, this was quite fun.

"Right now?" the brown head tilted in an adorable fashion (what? Just because he decided not to go for her, didn't meant that he couldn't appreciate her attractiveness)

"Of course, dearie, come on, let's run!"

And run they did.

Well, not at first. At first, Feliciana trudged along while Arthur did his best to speed her up. Then the Brit told her to pretend as though there was a strict military sergeant yelling at them to run faster.

At that, the Italian quickly outpaced Arthur, kicking up clouds of dirt, leaving behind afterimages, a la Roadrunner.

Arthur was actually panting by the time they reached the room, but Feliciana looked as though she had strolled up here, despite the slight look of fear that still lingered from her vivid imagination.

"Oh, Louise!" Arthur called out, throwing open the door. He wasn't afraid in the slightest that Feliciana might figure it out. Not only had their slow beginning pace given the fit German plenty of time to get back, Feliciana was too much of a ditz to figure it out unless Ludwig showed up in nothing more than his underwear in front of her.

And even then, they still might be able to get away with it.

**…**

"When will I get to see mia ragazza?"

Lars was really tempted to start banging his head into the wall…but that would ruin his image and annoy the boss to no end. This was the problem with traveling with the boss. He would deny it if anyone brought it up, but when Romano was just around his guards and out of the public eye, he became rather needy for his girlfriend.

Everyone knew that it was the _real_ reason they were traveling down to Florida. Meeting up with Rome, the total head of the American mafia, was just a front as far as Romano was concerned. The Italian CONSTANTLY mouthed off to the big boss. If it wasn't for the fact that they were related by blood, then the Dutchman was positive that the head of the Chicago mafia would be dead by now. If it wasn't for the fact that you can't just leave the family, he would've ditched the hot-tempered Italian a long time ago.

As it was, every time he woke up, he feared for his life. The police were getting too close. Jones was good, it was a good thing that Romano promptly shut him down with paying off the judge, but he had almost _had them_.

And if Jones got Romano, the rest of the Chicago family wouldn't be too far behind.

But if Lars attempted to preempt it by going straight to the police, he'd end up dead. The police might not catch him, but if he betrayed the mafia, he would end up dead.

There was no doubt.

There was no question.

This was the way it was.

**…**

Alfred talked in his sleep.

It was quite amusing. The Russian smirked as he leant against the window, bracing his shoulder on the window, his arm supporting his head as he turned to watch his sleeping companion.

He knew that he was talking, but most of the words were unintelligible. The few that really stood out were ones that appeared to be directed at him, including "Commie bastard".

"Stupid house…mphf…beat that Commie bastard."

When Alfred's head rolled in his sleep to land on the Russian's other shoulder. He stiffened slightly at that, before relaxing. Jones hadn't been sleeping well lately, it was obvious just looking at the American. Alfred would be of much more use to him well-rested.

Besides, if Jones woke up like this, it would be something the Russian could use to tease him, getting him fired up and ready to hunt down Romano.

The Mafioso wouldn't stand a chance with both of them on his tracks. They would put a definite stop to whatever Romano was planning.

And then he would mess with the smaller American some more.

Just for fun.

**…**

Arthur burst into the room and started to make a huge show about looking for Ludwig.

"Maybe she went shopping?"

The Brit did his best to smother the laughter bubbling up. The image of the burly German going out shopping for female clothing would stick with him for the rest of his life.

"Perhaps that's it! I bet you she'll come through the door in a brand new outfit!"

To be completely honest, that was the only way that it would be possible for it to sink in to the Italian's brain.

Before the woman could respond, they could hear the low (but still surprisingly feminine) voice coming from the bathroom. Arthur fearlessly opened the door, figuring that if after all the time they spent, Ludwig was STILL out of disguise, then he DESERVED to be caught.

His hunch was, fortunately, correct, as only Ludwig's head was above the very bubbly bath, a shower cap perched on his head, with bits of his wig sticking out from underneath.

"Oh, hello, ladies. How was your swim?"

Over the little Italian's head, the German sent a glare towards the Brit, who only grinned in response. He knew full well that Ludwig had had plenty of time (even if the German hadn't known this) and that the man wouldn't hurt him so long as Feliciana was here…and now she was leaving…

Okay, now he might have a little trouble.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry for the long lag, as well as the short update. Watching the movie right now for inspiration, and this is all I've got at the moment.

Please, let me know what all of you think.

It gives me more incentive to write more.

* * *

The German rose from his bath like the Loch Ness Monster from her lake, his clothes dripping with suds and water, a stern glare on his face.

Arthur fought down a little snicker. It looked as though the German hadn't realized just how much time he had, and dove straight into the bath, only taking a little time to put his makeup on, his wig and bathing cap.

Arthur imagined that he had been extremely uncomfortable, waiting for them to finally come up. He must've had the feeling that the moment he got out to change his clothes to keep his only fancy set of male clothing from getting ruined, they would come running in and it would all be ruined.

Considering this was the guy who (while his clothes were still all male) ironed them every day and had a special way of folding his clothes.

The glare shut him up again, and the wall hit his back too soon for his own comfort. Ludwig kept advancing, looming over him in a mass of furious looking muscle.

A drop of water rolled down the German's long nose, but must've felt his influence. Not even the drop dared to drop.

Arthur gulped. He had always counted himself lucky to rarely get on the German's bad side, but he had seen enough to know that it wasn't the best place to be.

And he was smack down in it.

"Mind telling me what you were thinking, Dummkopf?"

"Now, now, Luddy. It was all just a joke. Feliciana can't run worth anything."

"And how would you have known that beforehand? What would you have done if she had sprinted up all the way and caught me?"

"I'd have stalled, Ludwig," Arthur tried edging to the side, "Now let's just calm down. You don't want to get into a fight with me. I might not look it, but I'm pretty strong!"

Not as strong as the German though.

Ludwig was lifting his hand now, and Arthur flinched away. He had seen Ludwig knock the last guy who upset him out with one punch. Arthur was too pretty to…what was he THINKING?

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Ludwig shoved Arthur away and grabbed the phone.

"Hello, room 414? You have a call. Ship to shore."

The German was confused, but agreed to take the call anyways, pulling on his false feminine voice.

"Eileen? It's Francis, you know, that naughty Frenchman? You slapped my face…who is this?"

"This is her roommate, Louise."

"You 'ave such a lovely voice, so robust, cher. Now, where is Miss Kirkland?"

"She can't talk right now. Is it anything important?" he leveled a quick glare at the "girl" in question.

"It's important to me. Tell her that I'll be picking her up to have dinner on my yacht, Le Lapin, with me after the show tonight. Just the two of us."

"What about the servants?" Ludwig moved away from the Englishman, an idea forming in his head.

"I gave them the night off on the shore! I don't suppose you want to join us, do you?"

"No, I think I'll pass," Ludwig was starting to think that Arthur didn't need to be tortured by him, this Francis fellow was doing a good enough job on his own, "I'll tell her."

"Au revoir!"

"Tell me what?" Arthur asked the moment Ludwig put the phone down.

"Francis wants to have dinner with you tonight on his yacht. Just the two of you."

Emerald eyes bugged out in anger, "What are you talking about? There's no way I'm going NEAR that filthy frog!"

"Of course you aren't going."

"Then why did you tell him…"

"I'm going."

Arthur looked Ludwig up and down, "Um, Luddy, you do realize that he's SEEN me, right? There's no way you can pass for me and fool him."

"Who says I'm eating with him?"

"But you just said that you were going to be on the yacht with him."

"No, I will be on the yacht with Feliciana."

"Then where is Francis going…oh no you don't! I am NOT spending time on shore with that stupid Frog!"

**…**

"Fredka," Ivan gently shook the American's shoulder, "We need to change trains."

Alfred groaned and sleepily swatted away the offending hand, "Five more minutes, ma."

The Russian was silent for a moment, before he started snickering, "I don't think you want me for a mother, comrade."

Alfred jerked awake faster than you could say "hamburger", nearly falling off of the seat. His eyes narrowed at the Russian.

"What is it, commie?"

Ivan wasn't even trying to hide his laughter now, heartily chuckling, startling the other occupants of the train.

"It's time to change trains," he said as he fought down the chuckles enough to be able to speak.

The American pouted at him as he rose to his feet, grabbed his bags, and shoved his way past the laughing Russian to march off of the train.

He should've started working with the American a long time ago.

**…**

"Look, Eileen, there's your boyfriend."

"I can't BELIEVE you bloody talked me into it."

"We're friends after all."

"How the bloody _expletive_ am I supposed to keep him ashore?"

"I don't care, just make something up!"

It was in that instance where a boy who worked in the hotel brought by a huge basket of flowers.

"These are for Eileen," the boy said, "They're from Mr. Bonnefoy."

Arthur really wanted to hate them…but they were red roses. He _loved_ roses. How could that frog had known…no, he was probably going on default. Red roses (if you could afford them, which obviously Bonnefoy could) were just one of those things that you give a girl that you're interested in.

Arthur knew this well. He'd given his fair share of them as well.

He was shocked out of his daze when Ludwig shoved a single rose into his hand before the German grabbed the whole basket and pulled it towards him, replacing the card with one of his own.

"What are you doing, you bloody wanker?"

"Hush," the German hissed, smiling as Feliciana came to sit down near them after her song, "Feliciana, these came for you."

"For me?" her eyes grew wide.

She read the card rapidly, "He wants me to meet him at the docks for him to take me by motorboat over to his yacht!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

Arthur groaned. This was going to be a LONG night.

"Oh, I wish my mother could see me now."

Arthur made a face, "The sad part is, my mother would probably be really happy about this."


	10. Chapter 10

PLEASE READ!

Before you read on, let me just say that there are several lines of the movie that I am keeping the same for humor purposes. It's been this way for quite a few of the chapters. However, I apologize for the spoiler, but Ludwig asks why a guy would want to marry another guy. I am not against homosexual relationships in any way shape or form, I am only trying to keep true to the time period in which this was unacceptable, as well as to the movie.

Therefore, please do not flame me for the little line, and just take it for the humor it is worth.

Thank you.

* * *

Arthur wanted to pout as he watched Ludwig ride a bicycle down to the dock to meet with Feliciana. There was very little that made the Brit more happy than being out on a boat…and here he was telling this stupid Frog that boats made him seasick.

Francis had looked a little put-out that they weren't going to be out on his boat, but he quickly bounced back and started talking about this great dance place down the road that they could go to.

Arthur wanted to refuse, but this was probably one of the better options. Miniature golf was certainly out of the question; he was NOT about to get stuck in a sandtrap with the stupid fool!

"So, about that dance?" he found himself asking, twirling the dark red rose in between his fingers.

**…**

Ludwig, meanwhile, was trying not to show just how lost he was on the ship. On the way out, Feliciana had laughed with him over how ridiculous yachts that slept over twelve were. In reality, it was yachts that slept more than one that he had trouble with.

Where on EARTH did the man's servants set up the preparations for them?

"Ludwig," she spoke, and he smiled a little at her voice saying his name, "Is this the room?"

He turned to see her peering through the curtains to look into a well-lit room with candles and dishes, as well as plenty of trophies.

He smiled benevolently at her, "Ja, it is," he opened the door, "Sorry, I'm a bit lost around here on Tuesday nights."

"Why is that?" she just about skipped into the room in front of him.

"Well, you see it's the crew's night off."

Brown eyes grew wide, and Ludwig worried for a moment that he shouldn't have said that, "You mean we're alone?"

"Ja."

Can't recant his statement now.

He was relieved to see her smile again, though he couldn't deny that the reason behind it might've been that she had spotted the pasta on the table.

He massaged the bridge of his nose as he watched her skip over to fill a plate with the Italian dish; wearing his reading glasses so much was giving him a headache. But it was worth it to see her smile like this.

"Is this a water polo trophy?" she asked.

He nodded at her.

"But isn't that terribly dangerous?"

He quickly thought up a response, and prayed that Feliciana was only pretending to know about the sport, "I'd say. I've had four ponies drowned under me."

She gave a little gasp at that before starting to giggle.

"You're so funny, Ludwig! I can't believe that you're not married!"

It was cute how blunt she was at times.

"Well," he decided to tease her a bit, and was rewarded with her immediate attention, "The truth is, I can't fall in love." He decided that he was going to try out this trick from a play that Arthur told him about once. He couldn't remember the name of the play, but knew that the author was Oscar Wilde.

"You can't?"

"No," he did his best to appear completely solemn, "You see, there was this girl back in Germany, that's where I come from, you see. We went to school together, our families were great friends. They even all decided to move over to America at the same time, when she and I were around eighteen. She wore glasses too. One month, our family decided to take a trip out to the Grand Canyon. It was beautiful, standing up there with her by my side, and the moment came over us to kiss."

He took a moment to spare a glance for the entranced Italian, watching him eagerly, and with a little apprehension. Perhaps he was laying on the love a little too much if she was worried about this fictional girl.

"I took off my glasses. She took off her glasses. I took a step towards her. She took a step…" he trailed off as Feliciana let out a wail, realizing EXACTLY what had happened.

"After that," he continued, giving his chest a bit of a thwack, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Have you tried?" she asked cautiously. Ludwig allowed himself a bit of a scoff at that.

"Have I tried? When my parents found out, they hired the best doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, anyone they could think of, to come and help me. They brought in all of these exotic girls from all over the world…nothing worked."

Ludwig was beginning to think that this sounded like something Gilbert would use to get a girl, and felt a wave of disgust run over himself at the realization of what exactly he was doing.

But he couldn't stop.

He was now waiting for her to turn away from him with hatred. He wasn't expecting her to continue talking to him.

"Have you ever tried, an Italian girl?"

His eyes widened, ready to tell her that he had just been joking with her, when suddenly he could feel her soft lips on his own.

**…**

Arthur only felt this way when he was drunk, at least, he thought that was the only time. But unless Francis had somehow spiked his drink while he wasn't looking, he was feeling this giddy while being completely sober.

And somehow, he didn't mind overly much, even if he did feel slightly ridiculous being twirled about on the Frog's arm, spinning about the dance floor.

Francis DID have to keep reminding him to stop leading every now and then. But it was with a smiling face that led Arthur to believe that the French billionaire was having a grand time as well.

Arthur was surprised as he was given a sudden dip, his emerald eyes meeting sapphire blue that were a little too close for comfort, yet surprisingly pleasant.

"Are you enjoying yourself, ma cherie?"

Arthur had to force himself not to smile back, "I think not."

The Frog seemed to see right through him as he lifted the smaller man to his feet to twirl him again, "Then perhaps we should keep dancing, non?"

**…**

Ludwig was slightly dazed as he climbed back into their room, as carefully as he could in order to avoid attention of a man going to a lady's room. Not to mention the fact that he had told Feliciana that he was staying on his yacht, not in the hotel. If she saw him anywhere near there, there could be suspicion.

However, he was slightly worried that he had climbed into the wrong room when he saw a girl giggling on the bed.

Closer inspection revealed that this girl was in fact Ludwig's long-time roommate, with an uncharacteristic smile on his face.

"Arthur?" the German asked incredulously.

"Oh, Luddy! I have the most wonderful news!"

"What's that?" Ludwig was apprehensive.

"I'm engaged!"

"Oh," the German was feeling even more confused, but pleased for his friend, "Who's the lucky girl?"

Arthur paused dramatically, holding the rose to her nose and taking a large whiff of it, before kissing the petals, "I am."

"What?" the German accent was stronger than ever as he nearly choked, ripping the glasses off of his face so he could look at his friend.

"I. Am. En. Gaged." Arthur responded slowly, as though explaining to a stupid child, "To. Francis. Bonnefoy."

Had that Frenchman somehow brainwashed his friend?

"You can't!"

"Why not?" The really scary part had to be that Arthur sincerely seemed to have no idea as to why marrying Bonnefoy was a poor move on his part, "Do you think he's too old for me?"

"You're not a girl!" Ludwig was having a little trouble keeping his voice down low, "You're a guy, and why would a guy want to marry a guy?"

"Security!"

Ludwig wanted to slam his head into the wall.

"Look, I'm not crazy, Ludwig, I know there's a problem…"

"You can say that again…"

"It's his mother," Arthur nodded firmly, "We need her approval. But I'm not worried about that at all, because I don't smoke…anymore."

"Well, what are you going to do about your honeymoon?"

Arthur sat up on his bed, flipping a pigtail over his shoulder as he started to use his fingers to brush out the other one, "We've been talking about that. He wants to go to Paris, since he thinks that it's the city of love, but I really want to go to London."

"How on Earth do you think you're going to get away with this?"

"I don't expect it to last, Luddy!" though he did look a little crestfallen at the thought, "I'll tell him the truth when the time comes."

"And when is that? Right after the marriage?"

Arthur looked a little sheepish, "Well…then we can get a quick annulment, he'll make a settlement on me, and I'll keep getting alimony checks every month."

"Look, Arthur, there are laws and conventions. You just can't do this!"

"But Luddy!" the Brit's pout was even more powerful as a girl, "This might be my last chance to marry a millionaire!"

The German groaned, "Look, forget everything I said about pretending to be a girl. Tell yourself that you're a boy again, Arthur, please."

Dawning comprehension filtered into the Brit's eyes as everything that he had been saying finally came home to him.

"Oh dear, I'm a boy. I wish I was dead. Wouldn't Alastair laugh himself silly about this?"

Ludwig didn't respond as Arthur dropped himself back onto the bed in defeat.

"Now what am I going to do about my engagement present?"

"Engagement present?"

"Aye," Arthur showed the shiny bracelet on his wrist before removing it to hand over to Ludwig, who stared at it with wide eyes.

"These are real diamonds!"

"Of course they are," Arthur snatched them back, "What do you think my fiancé is, a bum or something? I guess I'll have to give them back to him."

"Wait just a second," Ludwig grabbed them back, "Let's hold onto them for a bit. We don't want to hurt Francis's feelings after all."

"Huh?"

Suddenly a white-blonde whirlwind rushed into the room, followed by a more stately-looking (and shy) conventional blonde, who closed the door behind them.

"There you two are!" Gilbert spoke angrily in a rather feminine voice, planting his hands on his hips, ruby eyes flashing furiously, "I was looking for you last night, and neither of you were anywhere to be found. I thought Romano had gotten you, and that I was going to have to explain to Mutti what happened!"

Ludwig couldn't get over how feminine his older brother looked just then, tapping his foot angrily in those high heels.

"Sorry…schwester."

It slipped out before Ludwig could stop it. He could tell that it was the wrong move as Gilbert looked ready to snap. He was saved from his brother's wrath by the slight blonde who walked up behind Gilbert and started whispering in his ear…was she TALLER than him?"

"Ja, Maddie, I understand," he smiled at his wife, giving her a little hug, resting his head onto her shoulder, and then straightened up to point at his brother, "Luddy, get your dress on. It's undignified for a man to be in a lady's room."

Maddie snorted a little at that, muttering something along the lines of her being the only lady in the room, but no one heard her except Gilbert, who let out his unique laugh.

"Good one, Maddie!" he ignored the strange looks he got from his brother and his friend, "Anyways, I got word that they're sending down two men to help us by train. Or at least, they did. They might even be here by now, but they are unable to tell me how to contact them yet."

"Who are they?" Ludwig asked, arranging his wig and fixing up his makeup.

"Alfred F. Jones and Ivan Braginski."

**…**

"So this is where Romano is supposed to be staying?" Ivan asked as they entered the hotel.

"Yeah," the American responded as he carried his huge trunk over his shoulder as though it was nothing heavier than a feather, "At least, that's what we hope. It's where his girlfriend is supposed to be," his eyes suddenly caught a large banner welcoming lovers of the Italian opera.

He pointed, and Ivan turned to see it as well.

"Yeah," Alfred grinned, "I'm pretty sure that he's here."

Let the hunt begin again.

**…**

Lars sighed as they finally entered the hotel. Romano was starting to become a real pain to live with. Not to mention that he was now down to the last pack of his…special cigars. Couldn't exactly make more on the train.

But first they had to get past the convention's staff checking all of them for weapons.

And, of course, Romano couldn't take it gracefully, slapping away a hand, "Only mia ragazza is permitted to touch me like that."

By then they had moved on to the rest of the Italian's staff, and were confiscating every bit of hardware they could find."

This was going to be a long day. Lars could tell.


	11. Chapter 11

It was settled…the world had it out for them.

Arthur was positive of this, now.

If he was wearing any pants, he'd be quaking in them.

It was only a little consolation that Ludwig looked just as shaken as he did.

But it was incredibly difficult to feel smug at his friend's misfortune with Tomato Romano's arm hanging around his shouler.

Yes, Tomato Romano, the guy who was out for their blood, was standing there with his arms around the two cross-dressers, _flirting_ with them.

Flirting! Even though just five seconds ago he had mentioned his girlfriend. He had actually mentioned her quite a bit for the last five minutes, despite all of his flirtatious remarks. His bodyguards (why does _he_ have bodyguards anyways? Seems like the rest of the world ought to have bodyguards to protect them from him!) seemed a little relieved when he started a conversation up with the two cross-dressers.

This guy could talk someone to death.

Well, at least he hadn't gone for the grope like Francis had…oh dear, there he was. Blue eyes flashing dangerously, the Frenchman started stomping over to where they were.

"Excuse me," Arthur said quickly to Romano, "I have to go polish my nose." He threw in a smile that he hoped qualified as "winsome" and was rewarded with being released as the Italian nodded and turned his attention completely to Ludwig.

As fast as he could, to avoid a duel, he grabbed Francis's arm and yanked him off to a hallway.

"Who was that man?" the French billionaire practically growled, surprising the Englishman with his intensity, "Eileen, who was he?"

Okay, _Eileen_, play the part or he won't believe you.

He stuck his nose up in the air, "Who said you could call me Eileen? Last time I checked, I should still be Miss…"

He suddenly found himself pinned against the wall, blue eyes glaring firmly into his green ones.

"Don't mess with me, _Eileen_. You tell me who that man was right now, or else I'll go over there and ask _him_. Is that what you want?"

To say that Arthur was shocked would be a bit of an understatement. Never had he imagined that this would've inflamed Francis to this extent.

"I don't know who he is," Arthur stuck his chin out, pouting a little as he did, "He just grabbed me in the elevator going down and started jabbering at me. I wanted to push him away, but his men have guns."

He didn't seem convinced. It seemed that the frog wasn't as stupid as he thought he was.

"You seemed to be able to make an escape quite easily."

"I didn't want to leave Louise, there's no way he'd have let us both walk off. I only came to grab you before you did something stupid and got ventilated!"

Francis seemed to ponder what he was saying a few moments.

"Excuse me," they were interrupted by two tall men, one wearing glasses over his blue eyes, "Could we get by?"

"Oui," Francis nodded, both he and Arthur getting out of the middle of the hallway.

"Thanks!" the spectacled man seemed to almost cheer, rushing past them. His friend moved a bit slower.

"Cпасибо," he nodded at them before slightly speeding up his walk to catch up with the other man.

Arthur bit his lip as he looked up at Francis, hoping that he would be willing to buy this story. It would be kind of sad if he didn't, especially since it actually WAS the truth…sort of.

"I believe you."

"Huh?"

Francis was nodding to himself, "The men were certainly rather intimidating. And since you've been to a conservatory, I'm sure that you have no experience with rough men."

Arthur was beginning to relax when he felt an arm twine around his waist.

"So what do you say we go out to my yacht and change that?"

Smacking the billionaire on the head, Arthur wondered why he was so interested in saving the frog anyways.

**…**

"I have to go," Ludwig did his best to carefully untangle himself from the Italian without setting him off, "Eileen and I have to get ready for the show."

"Show?" a brown eyebrow quirked, "You two…aren't by any chance part of Elizaveta's Society Sycophants or whatever that name was?"

Reluctantly, Ludwig nodded. They were the only female group preforming at the hotel, and it's not as though lying would do them any good. If Romano showed up and found out that he had lied about that, he might wonder what the "girls" had to hide.

"Ah," a beautifully angelic smile crossed his face, "Then you must know Antonia!"

Antonia? Oh, that was that girl who was always smiling and cracking those horrible jokes…don't tell him…

"Of course you do! Mia ragazza wouldn't let anyone in her group be ignorant of her charm and beauty!"

Charm? Beauty, Ludwig would admit she had, but charm seemed to be lacking somewhat. But now Romano was reaching into the pocket of his vest, and pulled out an envelope that he handed over to the disguised man.

"Per favore, give this to her."

Ludwig forced himself to smile and quickly made his escape.

But he didn't manage to quite make it to his room. Like she had been called, Antonia was hanging out around his door. He didn't want to, but his sense of honor insisted that he hand the letter over the mafioso's girlfriend.

Bright green eyes looked at him, puzzled as she ripped into the letter, and then narrowed suddenly.

"Where did you get this?" her voice was low and sharp, unlike the bubbly voice she had always used before.

"He's…he's downstairs. He overheard me talking about the show tonight and guessed that I must know you…"

It would be wise, he decided, not to mention the flirting. Even if it DID seem like she knew already, as she leaned in closer to him, grabbing his collar to pull him down to her level.

"Lovi is mine, you got that?"

Ludwig nodded, surprised at how intimidating this girl was at the moment

And then the broad smile was back…yet it seemed somewhat scary from this rapid turnaround.

"Good. I'd hate to pull out my battle axe."

First a hockey stick, now a battle axe. How did girls fit this stuff into those trunks?


End file.
